'That's damned odd,' Fred Doherty said, looking aft, then up at the gray overcast.
'What is?' Petrovich asked, lowering the camera off his shoulder.
'Something's happened,' Doherty said. 'We're changing course. Picking up speed, too.' He could feel the breeze stiffening on his face.
They were standing on the highest vantage point accessible to the Queen's passengers, a stretch of open deck immediately ahead of the cruise ship's single enormous smokestack. The Atlantis Queen's passenger decks were numbered from One, at the quarterdeck and Grand Lounge where they'd come aboard, up to Twelve, which consisted of this outdoor terrace overlooking the Grotto Pool. The Atlantean Grotto Lounge occupied the space immediately below, which opened onto the pool deck through large sliding glass doors.
Doherty had spoken with Bernstein, the Harper bitch's manager, last night in the ship's casino. The two men had bumped into each other while watching the incredible performance of the card-dealing robot and shared a few drinks.
Bernstein had told Doherty that Harper planned to do some sunbathing at the Forward Pool this morning but neglected to say what time. Doherty and Petrovich had decided that this might be an opportunity to get some candid footage of Harper, and if she showed up in one of her trademark almost-not-there thong bikinis, so much the better. Since they wouldn't be doing any interviewing, Sandra Ames had elected to stay in her stateroom. Doherty suspected she was feeling a bit queasy… a touch of mal-de-mer despite the fact that the rolling seas could scarcely be felt aboard the enormous and supremely stable cruise ship.
Unfortunately, the weather was gray and somewhat cool… not cold, but not exactly bikini weather, either, and Harper hadn't showed up. Doherty and Petrovich had waited there for twenty minutes and had just decided to give up and go inside.
'So?' Petrovich said. 'We're changing course. Ships do that.'
'No… I mean we're going the wrong way.'
'What, are you the ship's captain?'
'No, jackass. Look.'
He pointed aft, past the loom of the ship's smokestack. The Queen's wake curved off toward the left.
'So?'
'Don't you get it? We're headed west, out of the English Channel. From here, we're supposed to turn south — that's toward the left, okay? Why are we turning right?' He frowned, concentrating. 'I think we're speeding up, too. Feel the engines?'
'No.'
'Then look at that spray, forward. We're hitting the waves harder, now.'
'Look, I'm getting cold,' Petrovich said. 'Let's go in and get some coffee.'
'No,' Doherty said. 'Stay put. I have a feeling'
'You had a feeling with the police and ambulance at the dock yesterday.'
'Damn it, this is different.' He could feel it in his bones.
The Sandpiper was slowing perceptibly but very gradually as her engines pounded in full reverse. Captain Jorgenson had stood up from his chair and now leaned against the bridge forward console, peering out over the scene of destruction ahead.
'Helm!' he snapped. 'Come left two points.'
'Come left two points, aye, aye, sir,' the helmsman replied, turning the wheel.
Jorgenson kept studying the route ahead, judging wave action, wind, and the Sandpiper's own staggering inertia and momentum. Maneuverable for her tonnage she might be, but the huge vessel still couldn't stop on the proverbial dime. The last thing Jorgenson could afford now was to ram the sinking warship ahead, or become entangled in the mass of floating wreckage surrounding her, or come so close aboard that further explosions or munitions detonations damaged his command. By shearing off two points, he ensured that they would keep the Ishikari well to starboard yet still be close enough to rescue men in the water.
'Mr. Dunsmore,' he said.
'Sir!'
'Put the Cat into the water. Put three volunteers on board. Have them start getting those people out of the water.'
'Yes, sir.' The exec reached for a telephone handset and punched out a number. 'Should we arm her?'
'The Cat' was a twenty-foot, high-speed powerboat stored in an ingenious launch tube over the Sandpiper's stern. The boat could be armed with a machine gun, at need, and was intended as a small auxiliary unit in case the Sandpiper was attacked by pirates.
'No, Number One,' Jorgenson said after a brief hesitation. Breaking out a weapon and ammunition would take precious time, time those men in the water didn't have.
There could be no possible reason to arm a rescue craft.
'Captain Jorgenson!' a voice called from the radio shack.
'Yes, Sparks?'
Robert Orly, the ship's chief communications technician, leaned out of the radio room door. 'Sir, we have acknowledgments of our SOS. Campbeltown has asked if we need SAR assistance. The Atlantis Queen reports that she has changed course and is on her way to assist. ETA… about one hour, forty-five minutes. We also have an acknowledgment from that ALAT helicopter. They say they're on the way as well.'
'Very well.' Jorgenson wondered what kind of helicopter the ALAT contact might be. It was over a hundred miles from the Sandpiper's position, and the Sandpiper was a good 175 miles from Brest, the nearest fair-sized French city. Helicopters weren't known for their long range.
Well, if necessary, the Sandpiper could provide plenty of deck space forward if the French helicopter ran low on fuel and needed to set down. And a helicopter would be invaluable in a search for survivors.
'What's the ETA on the helicopter, Sparks?'
'Forty minutes, sir. Maybe a bit less, depending on headwinds.'
'Very well. Let them know their assistance is appreciated, and that we can provide a landing platform should they run low on fuel.'
'Yes, sir. What should I tell Campbeltown?
Jorgenson considered the question. The British frigate had left the convoy four hours ago but hadn't been going at flank. If her skipper cranked her up to top speed — thirty knots — they'd be back here in a bit over two hours.
And the Campbeltown was a warship, with very little free space on board for survivors off the Ishikari. The only reason to bring her back would be if there was a threat — a military threat — to the Sandpiper The Campbeltown would be of little help in a rescue operation.
'Tell her thanks, but we have the Atlantis Queen on the way.' The Queen would have tons of space on board, not to mention a large and modern infirmary for the injured. 'Tell her we may need her as an escort later.'
'Aye, aye, Captain.'
'And radio Barrow and let them know what's going on.'
'Right away, sir.'
Jorgenson began going over everything in his mind again. Had he missed anything? Other ships and aircraft would be on the scene within a couple of hours or so. In the meantime, a French helicopter and a British cruise ship would be able to provide all of the search-and-rescue support necessary.
The sinking escort was less than four hundred yards off the port bow, now, and drawing very slowly closer.
Chapter 9
